He skin still felt warm from the shower. Her muscles relaxed to the point that she barely remembered getting dressed. A few minutes after her head touched the pillow she was fast asleep.
* * *
Below Kelly’s balcony window the small duck floated on the tranquil waters of the pond. The animal allowed the drifting current to take him to the outside edge. He maneuvered across the small pond with graceful ease.
If Kelly’s contacts were in place, she may have even seen the peacefully floating creature, and even more.
She might have also caught a glimpse of someone else staring at her through shadows. But as far as he could tell, she didn’t see him. He watched her from the courtyard as she drew the blinds closed. His slender shadow stretched across the dark water as he looked away from Kelly’s window then at the small duck with mild interest.
He stood among the Greek statues displayed throughout the courtyard. He blended with the stone representations although he was neither Greek nor made of limestone. Even more, unlike the pleasant appearance of the Greek figures, his presence projected a more ominous silhouette.
The smoke from his cigarette rose in a serpent like fashion then mixed into the Texas night. His squinted eyes back at the closed blinds that lead to Kelly apartment then back at the pond. So close.
He knelled down in the darkness and distinguished the cigarette into the brick walkway. The small duck grew curious and moved closer accustomed to humans who probably feed him bread crumbs on a daily basis.
The duck moved closer conditioned not to shy away from visitors and a potential early morning meal. Garcia gently moved his large hand toward the small duck. It waddled out of the water, shook its feathers dry then took several steps to get next to Garcia.
In a blindingly swift movement, he snatched the duck away from the pond’s edge. He gripped the animal in both hands then ripped it in half. Feathers, blood, and guts burst between his fingers then fell onto the concrete walkway.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The next morning Mike woke up to the scent of fresh coffee. The strong aroma filled his nostrils forcing his body into an upright position. His body ached, beaten by the unmerciful solid texture of the couch. He twisted his neck then leaned it back against his hand as he tried to rub away the soreness. He felt as if he had slept for several uncomfortable days.
A steady stream of sunlight sprayed through the blinds. The common appearance of fog had long burned off allowing the sun to reveal its full glow. On the far wall of Kelly’s apartment Mike caught his reflection bouncing off a large sun shaped mirrored clock.
His eyes filled with spots as they adjusted to the light. He blinked repeatedly in his effort to focus on the bright yellow hands of the wall clock. 9:05?
He calculated the elapsed time. What felt like a few days of sleeping actually came to just about two and a half hours. That can’t be right.
He stood slowly placing both hands on his waist then leaned back as far as he could to hear the familiar crack. This time the sound would not happen. He twisted his upper torso hard from one side to the other but was still unable to create that relieving crack. Even without the sound, he felt a slight release of tension. Hell, good enough. The mental anxiety however refused to go away.
Kelly peeked around the corner. “Bout time!” she smiled. “I thought I was going to have to give you mouth to mouth to get you going!”
Mike ignored the comment. The fatigue and stress blocked the ability to place any thoughts into her words. His mind could not truly wrap around anything at this point. A dark consideration took precedence. I should just drop everything including the bar, and relocate, he thought.
The thought of dealing with the likes of Garcia at this point in his life was not something he was willing to risk. Far too much remained to lose and as for what there was to gain, he couldn’t see it, not now anyway.
In the mist of the strong scent of coffee, toast and bacon emerged to dominate the senses. Kelly unnecessarily but thoughtfully managed to take the time and prepare a small breakfast. It took a little enticing on Kelly’s part, but after some eye batting and pouting, he considered eating what she had cook for him instead of bolting out of there.
Mike did not feel the least bit hungry and just wanted to just get home. He still did not want to appear discourteous, so he graciously accepted her offer. Although it wasn’t the best breakfast he ever tasted to his surprise it was far better then he expected. He thanked her then gathered his things.
“Hey Kelly,” he said turning away from the door. “I have a lot of things to do before I open the bar but I’ll swing back through to get you on the way there.”
“Ok good, your tank is full, so you won’t have to do that,” she replied.
“Full?”
“Yeah, I sort of borrowed your Porsche this morning since, you know, my car was still at the bar. I went on a grocery run, dropped off some mail, and then did a thirty-minute jog around the school’s track.”
Mike remained stoned faced.
“Oh Mike, don’t worry I didn’t get a scratch on it, I swear,” she added but a hand went to her mouth. “Mike I am so sorry, I should have asked you first before taking off in your car.”
He stared at Kelly truly amazed at the energy that she always seemed to encompass. He thought that if he could bottle that energy he could make millions. He still remained silent as he thought about her endless level of vigor.
“Mike really, I am so sorry! I should have asked you first. See you were sleeping so sound that I didn’t want to wake you. Are you upset?” Kelly toyed with her hair nervously.
“Upset? No,” Mike said. “But I am a little shocked.”
“Shocked?” she said softly lowering her head.
“Yeah Kelly shocked! You mean to tell me that a blonde knows how to drive a standard shift? Wonders never cease,” he smiled.
It took a second for the slight to register. Mike knew what was coming and was already making his way to the door. Lucky for him, a throw pillow from the couch was the closest thing Kelly could grab. She launched the cousin rocket at him missing his head.
She then grabbed a fork off the breakfast plate and continued after Mike who was laughing hysterically on his way out the door.
“Dammit Mike!! I hate those damn blonde jokes!!!”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The Porsche gears whined high before shifting into second as Mike raced out of the driveway of Kelly’s apartment complex. The silver sports car bounced onto the street then into the light Frankford Street traffic. For a fleeting moment he smiled within as he waited at the next stop light.
The pleasant mood vanished soon after lifting is spirits. Pressing matters dominated his mind that – in one form or the other – centered on Garcia. Mike weighed the options.
A number of possibilities could explain Garcia’s sudden appearance. He wondered if Garcia tracked him down or just happen to come into the Memphis Bar and spot him. The latter seemed more possible since he pictured Garcia to be more of the Ghost Bar or The Glass Cactus type. His bar drew in a more working class clientele. If he had to guess he would say that Garcia tracked him down and didn’t just stumble into the Memphis nightclub.
With the most likely case in mind a new set of concerns opened up. From what Mike did know about Garcia, he was not one to stop a pursuit so now that Garcia was aware of his location, Mike had to assume that the chase would not stop. That is of course unless the need had ended with Mike’s untimely death.
Yet for every known there were still a growing number of unknowns. Garcia had the element of surprise so why did he walk away? Why not kill him on the way to his car after closing the bar? Why make his presence known just to walk out of the front entrance? No matter how he calculated, it really didn’t add up.
One fact was undeniable. The blood hounds of hell had caught his sent and that gave Mike a less then zero percent chance of Garcia losing the trail. The hunt was on and from the look of
things it had never actually stopped. For years he pretended that everything was behind him. That convenient lie no longer held any weight. The truth could no longer slide between the shadows.
For this dance to end something drastic would have to occur. The decision brought a sort of morbid peace to his mind. With that mindset settled, for the rest of the day Mike focused on his errands.
The tasks took far longer to complete then Mike anticipated. Mike constantly checked his watch to calculate and recalculate time spans. This ballet with the clock was something he was accustomed to but still not comfortably able to grasp.
The constraints of time compounded but the need to share it added up even faster. As the day passed it seemed that he would always have to divert his plans to squeeze in someone else’s. An employee, family, friend, it was always someone.
An added stress evolved around something that was always there but out of his control, the Dallas traffic. The bumper to bumper congestion imprisoned him as it always did in any drive beyond his neighborhood. But it was the price you paid to, dance in Dallas or so he joked with anyone who complained about the constant freeway congestion that plagued the city.
The traffic was not his main concern. As Mike sat inside his car he thought about more important shortcomings because he realized that he got it wrong.
Somehow he miscalculated and his certainty of being insolated from his past by living among the massive population of a big city like Dallas did not work. He lived a world away from Washington State but his past still managed to transfer its grip to his present Texas location. Instead of the calculated move to Dallas being a buffer, it was actually a bridge.
“How in the world did he find me all the way in Addison, Texas?” he said aloud.
The thought disturbed him but deep down he knew that the resurfacing past was inevitable. The how’s were actually irrelevant and had no bearing on fate. Garcia was destined to find Mike because karma was not on Mike’s side. As much as he tried to convince himself that there was no room in the present for the past, he was not surprised that this day would come, it had to come.
Like an angry lion awaken from a deep sleep, the dark compartments of suppressed memories rushed back into the present.
The cell phone ring gradually faded into his awareness. It took nearly five rings before Mike became fully aware that he was getting a call.
“Hello?” No answer. “Hello?” He repeated.
Out of the silence, words emerged with a low distinctive accent. The voice echoed with familiarity, Mike could never forget it because it had never left his memory. It spoke in dry low tones and with words separated by thoughtful segments. Each word eased out with carefully consideration and calculated phrases intentionally spaced by pauses.
“Ever- wondered why Cain, killed Able, Michael Andrews?”
Mike did not answer. He felt moisture seep from his forehead as he pressed the cell phone hard against his face. Numbness raced across his soul as the aura of malevolence overcame the entire day. He heard the slow pull of wind in the receiver as the caller took a drag of his cigarette.
“It was simple,” Garcia continued. “Somewhere deep down, he knew he could get away with it.”
The voice of Garcia caused Mike’s spine to tingle. His skin felt like a thousand needles were being pricked into it simultaneously. Silence gripped the phone as Garcia allowed his words to slither inside Mike’s head. Composure dominated Mike but then fell away after the next unexpected and deeply unsettling words came from Garcia’s mouth.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“Mr. Andrews,” Garcia paused. The sound of him taking another long contemplated drag from his cigarette filled the gap. “You should really call your mother more often.” He stopped to take another pause. “I’m afraid she’s just not looking too, healthy, these days.”
The call disconnected leaving Mike to dwell in personal terror laced in confusion. The words bounced inside his head trying to pull some logic from them. Garcia’s voice played over in repeated contemplation as his mind tried to get a true grip on what was said or implied.
The leisure traffic decreased to an even slower pace as the air conditioned interior of his car dropped from warm to hot. Extreme anxiety settled at levels Mike had never known were possible. His existence slumped as the heavy onset of the vast unknown pressed hard upon him.
Mike’s mind rotated in a mental tailspin. He felt like lost, helpless, wounded prey and there was nothing he could do but wait. Soon he would accept humiliating defeat as he got finished off by this relentless predator.
The morbid psychological game of chess began with a scripted end. It would progress to physical deletion. The problem embraced a solemn fact, before Mike even joined in this game was already in progress. Key movements were already accomplished so the odds were heavily stacked against him. When a game has already ended, the progression component of time will bring dark awareness to the unknowing opponent.
He had to think about what he was up against. Doing his personal research there were still a few things that Mike was able to find out about the legendary Garcia. One hundred percent of the known attributes were not putting Mike’s mind at ease.
Some long eerily time periods remained where it seemed as if Garcia was off the map. Fortunately, after a period of dead time, he began to receive messages from his friend in the military with new information on Garcia to keep the information flowing but each block became more chilling and even more disturbing.
The stories gave Mike a pretty good or rather pretty dark profile of Garcia. The man’s attributes contained cunning, very competitive, and methodical ways. In the end Mike discovered that the real man was far more ruthless then the legend.
As much as he knew about Garcia, he had to admit that he still underestimated him. Mike felt certain that the statue of limitations on bad karma would somehow give him a moral pardon on his past transgressions. He assumed that Garcia would adhere to more pressing matters then a nearly two decade old incident. Clearly Mike was wrong, potentially dead wrong.
In a flash of realization Mike jumped, inadvertently pressing the gas pedal. The reaction caused his Porsche to slam into the rear end of the car in front of him. The low front bumper of his Porsche slid beneath the rear of the late model Chevy truck.
The impact caused the cell phone to fly out of Mike’s hand and on to the passenger’s floor. Mike’s mind soared far away from the moment oblivious to the crash. He franticly removed the seat belt leaning over to the passenger side searching for the dropped cell phone.
Pure time pressing panic filled every fiber inside of him. The revelation of what he was up against crashed into his head in a distressing afterthought. He prayed he was wrong. In fact he had never hoped so much in his life that he was incorrect. But what he saw or thought he saw on his phone rattled him.
The man he just hit in the Chevy truck got out of his car. His hands waved franticly at the point of impact then flew to his head in disbelief.
Mike found his cell phone then pulled it from under the seat. He thumbed through the call log just as a shadow draped across him. The man from the crash stood at the door to the Porsche banging on the window. The heavy raps against the window were hear but ignored. Mike’s world fell silent; his focus zeroed on the cell phone’s small display.
He scrolled through the call list as he searched for the last incoming call. His hand froze almost refusing to press the number knowing the possibility of what he was about to see. The man at his car window tugged on the locked door handle with insistent jerks. The pulls were so hard that that the Porsche rocked with each one.
Mike pressed the button for the list of incoming calls then read the last call received number. It was not what the wanted to see. Mike’s body broke out into a cold sweat as he realized where Garcia’s call was made.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The digits displayed on the cell phone glowed in Mike’s memory. It remained one of the few numbers that he didn’t hav
e to use his contact list to remember. The mere site of the seven digits triggered an additional flow of cold sweat to cover Mike. It became the inception of the precise moment when the thought process took second seat to raw reaction.
His foot slammed against the small gas peddle. The Porsche’s back spinning tires squealed as they tore hard against the pavement. Mike’s only heard the sound of Garcia’s voice lurking in his ears. The vision of the seven numbers remained ever so present in his mind. It can’t be. Garcia is at my mother’s apartment, he mumbled to himself.
The erratic movement of the Porsche caused the man at his diver’s side window to jump out of the way. Mike pulled the stick shift forward out of reverse then threw it into first gear. He pressed his foot hard against the accelerator bouncing the car onto the sidewalk.
He raced along the outside of the stagnate traffic guiding the sports car within the small path. The truck Mike collided with was now just a small picture in his rear view mirror. When the sidewalk ended Mike darted in and out of traffic making his way to the North Dallas Tollway.
He arrived at the intersection but was stopped by a red light. After a quick glance he sped through the signal as other cars laid on their horns. The Porsche avoided a major collision by inches.
More horns blared like trumpets as other cars also scarcely missed colliding with the Porsche. The silver car fished tailed across the overpass then swerved left onto the access road before accelerating on to the tollway’s entrance ramp to head north.
It would take another fifteen minutes for Mike to get to his mother’s retirement apartment community. The drive to the Frankford Estates normally seemed to take only a few minutes in previous trips. Now time dragged on in a far too slow pace. He came to terms with an enlightened observation, there isn’t anything as infinite and yet so fleeting as time. The rigid constraints of time continued to extend somehow and stretch to allow more seconds within each minute and more minutes within the present hour.